


Ugly Lethologica

by Silverixx



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Low-key Sebaciel, Multi, Steampunk Aesthetic, The one BB fanfic that doesn't hate Grell or Elizabeth like really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:52:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6526489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverixx/pseuds/Silverixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The streets of London are peaceful once more on the surface. Few know of the underground mysteries that tend to leak into the above…</p>
<p>Fedelia Backhaus is one of the high-class citizens of England, born as an only child in an abandoned world. Because of an unfortunate incident that took place a few weeks before, she is rarely allowed on the lower-class streets of the city, causing her great boredom. She soon finds entertainment in collecting intricate children’s toys; taking them apart only to fix them again. However, one mechanical toy in particular gives her great trouble, which spurs her to find the original maker of it to question. The toy seems to have been made by a Drocell Keinz, in a store called ‘Angel’s Wing Antiques’. </p>
<p>It’s quite sad how their two lines cross…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ugly Lethologica

I forget the exact term for what I had witnessed over that time - maybe something synonymous with enthralling, yet including confusion? But it was horror. That’s a word that I clearly knew to include into the mix. Definitely horror.

My fingers worked frantically along several strings, threading them into a thin fabric. The said appendages were actually devoid of all marks, of all bruises that were usually thrown in with the fine work. Intrepid thoughts echoed throughout my mind, as well as the dark stone walls surrounding me and my creations. That’s all you are worth now, a thin, poorly-made fabric. Nothing more.

The spindle clicked every few seconds, a sort of metronomic thing. I sighed out loud and looked up at the ceiling in lethargy, but never stopped my fingers’ movements. By now the fabric was in thirty-three centimeters by length - I had been working on this one piece for a few hours now.

Moving my gaze from the ceiling to the darkest corner of the room out of pure ill-temptation, I felt a tinge of pleasure from within me as soon as I sighted my newest creation, my combined work of art and duty.

Her eyes gleamed with inhuman silver, the only thing wrong with the perfect body that accompanied them. I was glad about that, in a way, although I was so used to her eyes being a different color, a dull green. I remember when they were brighter, shining with curiosity and interest. Sighing once more, my fingers increase their already rapid pace.

If only she hadn’t met a certain nobleman, a certain butler, then everything would have been perfect. Then we would have our ideal world, a world full of beautiful souls to accompany the dance of flames born from imperfection. 

I stared at my creation once more.

She was in the darkest corner of the room. 

The room is circular.


End file.
